


Chance Meetup

by arlenejp



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M, cocks, coming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-11-21 16:24:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11361156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp
Summary: John meets a stranger.





	Chance Meetup

I'm invited by Mike Stamford, a close friend since university days, to his house for dinner. His wife is a fair cook but, because I'm on my own and eating takeaway most of the time, her home cooking is good.

* * *

          "John, I know you're living that small bedsit because you can't afford a flat in London."

          "I love London and want to stay here. Don't want to live outside, even in one of the towns nearby."

          "Let me ask around to see what I can find for you. My connections at Bart's Hospital might get me somewhere."

* * *

Chatting long after dinner and the hour is late, and I'm tired. I leave the Stamford's promising to come back next week.

* * *

I'm outside looking for a cab, but none is around. I might as well start walking.

* * *

Around the corner, I almost stumble on a man lying on the ground.

          "Are you ok sir? Can I help you? Do you need to go to a hospital?"

          "Huh, no, I'm fine. Give me a hand up."

Voice dusty, deep baritone.

In the dim light of the street lamp, he's a tall, thin, youngish man, long curly hair unkempt. He certainly isn't dressed like a street tramp. As a matter of fact, his long coat is of the expensive type.

Drugs, that's what it is, I bet!

* * *

A taxi is moving slowly, probably looking for a fare and I hail it.

          "Do you have a place to stay? I can drop you off."

He brings himself to his full height of at least two meters. Much taller than I am.

          "I have no place to stay at the moment. I'm thrown out of my flat."

The taxi pulls over and I open the door, inviting him in.

John Watson, you'll bring home any strays you find. Ah well! Are you really going to take him in? In your tiny one-room piece of shit?

Dusting himself off, trying to look confident and in charge of himself.

          "I'll take you to my flat and let you sleep there the night. You can shower and have a good breakfast, but you must leave in the morning when I do."

          "Thank you kindly."

The address is given and we arrive at my flat in fifteen minutes.

* * *

It's so tiny that there is no room for anything but a bed, table, chair, small bathroom with shower and toilet.

He enters, sees the room and snorts.

          "You live here? It's no better than places I've been thrown out of."

Ignoring that sharp remark.

          "Take the bed for tonight. I'll sleep in the chair."

          "No," as he drops his coat and scarf on the floor and takes off his shoes,"I can't let you do that. We can squeeze in the bed."

He pulls me over and onto the bed and we spoon together before we even undress.

At first, I'm taken aback, but he is slim enough where this works, and we both fall asleep.

* * *

The next morning I wake up, and to my embarrassment, I have an erection. And apparently so does the gentleman since I'm feeling his against my ass, even through the cloth of my trousers.

          "Hmm," is all he says as he puts a leg over me and turns me toward him. Desire wells in me.

* * *

I run my hand through those unruly, dark curls and without a thought in my head I kiss an appealing mouth with magnificent bow lips. His ardor is returned, pushing his tongue to spread my lips apart, and finding my tongue. 

No words are said, but the soft sounds are coming from both of us.

Heated, pulsing, we push closer, our cocks pushing through. Must get rid of the clothes between us.

I hastily pull at his zipper, tugging it down and yanking his trousers to his ankles.

Reaching for my zipper, he pulls my hand away and quickly removes my clothing down and from me.

Grinding ourselves together each of us achieves our peak of sexual pleasure.

* * *

I arise, go to the bathroom, take a shower. 

When I come out, I motion for him to go shower. Both of us have not spoken a word or looked directly at each other.

He walks out, hair dripping and scraggly.

This is one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen.

Cheekbones that stand out, hazel-blue eyes with bottomless intensity, showing an even deeper intelligence.

I'm taken with him, in lust is what most people would say. But, there is a deeper connection, a feeling I can't describe.

* * *

          "Let me give you money for breakfast. I have to be at work now and-," before I can say more, he grabs his coat and scarf, not even putting them on, and runs out.

          "Wait, I don't know who you are," shouting after him. But he's gone.

Who is this man I'm thoroughly entranced with?

How do I find him? I must find him!

* * *

I begin by walking the streets at night round about the place where he lay on the ground that night.

Even taking to asking the drunkards on the streets, day or night.

For a fortnight I wander out each night, no matter what the weather, and find neither him or any information about him.

* * *

All hope is gone, I look for other amusement. 

My co-worker Sarah is not interested in dating me, but she sets me up with Jennifer.

A tall, taller than me, dark-haired woman, intelligent and an enjoyable fuck in bed.

* * *

Every once in awhile, in the midst of sex with Jennifer, the image of that man shows up in my head. 

My orgasms are greatest when envisioning my curly headed man under me.

Jennifer comments on those times. She asks what she is doing that's different. I shrug. I'm not going to tell her. Not sure, no, very sure she won't like it.

* * *

One night Mike and I are at a pub, a few drinks in us already, I tell him of my strange meeting.

          "John, so you're bisexual, but that's okay. Doesn't bother me or change our friendship. But hanging up on this one meeting, with a total stranger, come on!"

          "Can't help it, he insinuated himself into my head. What do I do?"

          "Got an idea! Go to the police, I have someone in mind, tell him, give him a description, see if he can find any information. What do you think?"

          "He'll laugh at me or scoff because of my quirk."

          "No, Greg is, and I only think this mind you, also bisexual and would not be adverse to helping you. Go see him."

          "I'll think about it."

My head swirls with the thought. Should I talk to a total stranger? He'll ask why I'm interested. What do I say?

We finish our drinks, and I head back to that lonely bedsit, taking the tube and getting out before my flat to walk the few streets, looking, always looking.

* * *

The next day, after work, I saunter into the police station asking for Greg Lestrade.

I'm let into his office and see a silver-haired man in his early fifties, very good looking.

Looking up from his mounds of paperwork on the desk, he stands, puts a hand out to shake.

I shake and we both sit in chairs.

* * *

          "What can I do for you, Mister Watson."

          "It's Doctor, and let me tell you a story. It's weird, and you'll look at me crazy, but I need some help."

          "Mister, sorry, Doctor Watson, I hear all stories, and you'd be surprised at what weird can be."

I relate the whole thing to him, without the telling of having sex with this stranger, giving him a description of my one-time lover.

* * *

          "And you want to find this man, why?" he sits up in the chair instead of leaning back.

I look down at the floor, not saying anything. Afraid.

Realization breaks on his face.

* * *

          "Oh, never mind," I get up very embarrassed, my face a pinkish color by now.

          "Doctor Watson," he stands up also. 

          "I'll do my best but be warned if your intentions are to harm this person you'll be found and arrested. That being said, where can I reach you?"

I pause at the door to the office and say, "I'll give you my phone number. Text me if you find anything. And, I do not intend hurting this man."

* * *

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade sits back into his chair contemplating what he just heard and what he thinks actually happened. I know exactly who Doctor Watson is talking about, and the description is none other than Sherlock Holmes. Out on another drug bender. I haven't seen him in weeks. Have no idea where he is at the moment.

* * *

I guess I'll give a call to his older brother and see if he knows his whereabouts.

* * *

          "Mycroft, this is Greg. Do you know where your brother is at the moment?"

          "He's been in rehab going through detox and I'm in the process of finding him a flat. Why the call?"

          "Oh, haven't seen him around here in awhile and wondered. Figures he was high," I sigh, so disappointed in my detective Sherlock.

          "I've found something to keep his interest up. Got him into Barts Hospital at the lab where he can do all his experimenting there as long as he stays clean. "

          "Great, thanks for the info," as I hang up.

* * *

Do I tell Doctor Watson? No, don't want to entangle him with Sherlock. Not a drug addict. Not a good idea.

* * *

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mike has invited me out for lunch, and we're sitting outside at a cafe. The weather is warm for once, and we're dallying after a good meal.

          "John, I think I might have found someone to share a flat with you."

          "Yea, who?"

Standing up and pulling me he grins widely,"Let's see what you think. Follow me."

* * *

I am surprised when it's Bart's Hospital we arrive at. Taking the elevator up, he refuses to answer any inquiry on my part.

He opens the door to one of the many laboratories, and,-there he is! The man I've been looking for is now right in front of me!

          "Oh, oh," his eyes light on me, recognition in them.

          " Doctor John Watson, Sherlock Holmes," Mike interjects, taking a stool and watching us.

I don't notice Mike, don't notice anything other than the beautiful man standing at the lab counter, test tube in hand. My heart beats out of my body; my hands are shaking.

* * *

Sherlock advances on me, never taking his eyes off my face.

          "Doctor Watson, it's a coincidence we're together again. I need a flatmate, and I'm assuming that's why Mike brought you here."

          "Hey wait," Mike says, his head jerking up, "you two have met?"

          " Only briefly, but," and Sherlock stops there. 

His eyes and mine never move from each other, the intensity strong.

          "Hmmm, I guess, yep, I have other things to do. Let you talk," Mike talks but we don't respond and he moves quickly to the door.

          "You do that, Mike,"Sherlock answers, again his eyes still on mine, as he's inches away from me.

* * *

          "Sherlock Holmes, glad to see you again," my voice rough, gravelly.

Having a hard time thinking, feeling so foolish. I'm a grown man and yet he's throwing me off balance. Like a teenager.

          "Doctor Watson, we meet under different circumstances. Last time we met I was in the middle of a drug high. You were kind to me."

          "Hmm, yea, I fucked you I did!"

His smile, oh that smile.

          "Not quite that terminology can be used for what we did."

My cock is rising, and I don't know how long before, oh shit! I want him! Again!

I see him look down, sees my bump, smirks, both of us look at his trousers to see the same situation.

          "Come with me," taking my hand and shoving me through the door into an office, locking the door behind him.

He flings me into a large cushioned chair and sits on my lap, kissing, flinging his tongue out as I respond to him.

          "Damn, these clothes," standing up and shedding each piece of clothing, my mouth watering as he reveals himself.

A slim, almost skinny, pale body. Cock, shit, that cock!!!

          "What are you waiting for, or should I rip them off you?"

His voice now a deeper, huskier baritone.

My clothing hits the floor, and I move to him and melt in his arms.

Pushing me onto a large pillowy couch instead of the chair, his mouth finds all parts of my body, lips touching, never stopping. He climbs on me, brushing his body over mine.

          "Sherlock, I'm almost,-" and before I can finish his hands cup both our cocks, moving most sensuously.

          "Oh, oh, hell," both moaning into each others mouth.

Wetness spills over us. Quivering, shaking, we stay still as our bodies begin to relax.

* * *

          "Well, John Watson, do you want to move in with me? Share a flat, a bed?"

          "Mister Holmes, it would be my pleasure in both ways."


End file.
